Friday, January 23, 2009

Queens Bread

Toes cold like hoes on South Road,
Toes froze like the nose on hobos,
winter,
its crazzzzzy,
Rush hour so now I gotta squeeeeeeze through
these peepoole (people)
smellin like stale seafood,
worse in the summertime.
I surf all year round.

Oops I touched the pole.

Purell goes through hell every day,
every 20 minutes,
killing a germ in 15 seconds,
that's not fast enough.

Cuties can't see me, cuz I'm lost in the shuffle of these jokers,
5's,
6's and
crappy hands,
so I gotta bluff like I gotta man.
Still in my surfer stance,
pretending to be occupied so that they think my mind is elsewhere.

Why is it always the dude with the dreads that spots me?
figures we have something in common so continues to try and eye-lock me,

this shit is outray gouse

yo beat that bongo stop playin.

She said it's so cold in the D
well NYC aint much warmer,
searchin for a triple fat goose but its like I can't afford her.
I'm slippin...

now maneuver your way around these wild juveniles
cuz school's out
the animals are free.
Watch them claim streets
they will neglect after senior year,
but fuck that cuz for now they roam.

Give your seat to the elderly cuz they've been standing longer,
about 50 years longer,
so 5 stops won't be all that bad.

Get off.

Go home.

Lay down.

1 comment:

D Millz said...

"Why is it always the dude with the dreads that spots me?
figures we have something in common so continues to try and eye-lock me"

love that part. LOVE it.

This poem needs to be written down somewhere and send to be published in a NYC book of poetry. I have one so I know they exist.